Joanna Maitland - His Cavalry Lady

She had yet to have even the briefest glimpse of the Prince Regent, but all of Europe knew his reputation. Meg, Alex’s Scottish nurse, had said he was as handsome as a prince in a fairy tale, but that had been decades ago. He was no longer young, or handsome.

At that moment, Calder turned and saw her. She felt herself go bright red with embarrassment. She swore under her breath. Of all the difficulties of playing her role as a man, this was the worst. She had never been able to control it. And of course, this time, she had reason to blush. Calder was going to make her appear before the Prince Regent and take responsibility for the Emperor’s whims. Why had she put herself forward? There had been no real need, for Major Zass would undoubtedly have found a way out of the difficulty. But that might have involved some implied criticism of the Emperor. Such a thing was unacceptable.

‘There you are, Alexei Ivanovich. It is time we left.’

‘My apologies, Calder. My orderly had taken my shako away to brush it.’

Calder looked her up and down. ‘I must admit that the Hussar dress uniform is a most splendid one. Though perhaps,’ he added with a smile, ‘not the most practical.’

Alex relaxed a little. They were getting back to their earlier friendly banter. It felt very comfortable.

‘Come,’ he said briskly, ‘we had better go. The carriage had great difficulty getting here and may have even more in leaving.’ He shouldered his way through the press of people and flung open the door of his waiting carriage.

Alex had to admit he had remarkable presence in that powerful body. She followed in his wake, removing her shako. Its white plume was too tall to be worn inside the carriage.

‘Carlton House,’ Calder ordered sharply. ‘Quick as you can.’

The carriage moved off, but only slowly, for the crowds were in no mood to make way for anyone less than a visiting monarch. Alex glanced back at the hotel. The Tsar, his sister, and various of his officers were standing on the balcony. The crowd was cheering itself hoarse.

‘I fancy this may be quite a tedious journey,’ Calder said with a sigh.

Alex nodded and leaned back in her corner.

‘You will forgive my curiosity, I hope, Alexei Ivanovich, but I cannot help remarking that you are very young to have seen even one battle. Yet I know from the cross you wear that you must have done. It was won at Borodino, I was told.’

Alex launched into the answers she had long ago learned by rote. ‘I am not nearly as young as I look, Duke. I have been serving in his Majesty’s army for more than five years now.’

‘Borodino was not your first battle then?’

She shook her head. ‘I suffer from my lack of beard, but my comrades soon become accustomed.’

‘I’m sure they bait you unmercifully.’

She shook her head again. ‘The amusement soon palls. My youthful appearance has long been accepted. It is only when I meet new people, such as yourself, that it is remarked upon. What matters to my comrades is that I should be an efficient officer and that my soldiers should obey me without question. As they do.’

‘I’m sure they do. You seem to me to be a remarkably resolute young man.’

‘Not so very young, Duke. I am twenty-four years old.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed? Now that I would not have believed.’

She laughed. Usually, at this point in her recital, she would be feeling uncomfortable. But, with this man, it had not happened. Perhaps it was that brotherly kindness? She told herself that it could be nothing else.

The carriage stopped so suddenly that they were both thrown forward. The Duke swore. Then, letting down the glass, he stuck his head out to speak to the coachman. Returning, he said, with a grimace, ‘We are stuck here, I fear. Marshal Blücher has arrived at Carlton House. Even a man on horseback cannot get through.’

Alex picked up her shako. ‘Shall we walk, Duke?’ she asked, with a slight smile.

‘If you wish.’ He reached for the door handle. ‘But wearing that fine Russian uniform, you, too, may find yourself being mobbed.’

Alex put a hand to the hilt of her sabre. ‘Have no fear, sir. If you should be attacked, I will spring to your defence.’

The Duke looked down at her from his superior height. For a fraction of a second, he appeared totally thunderstruck. Then he burst into laughter. ‘With you at my side, Alexandrov, I do believe that anything is possible.’

At the gates of Carlton House, the crowd was enormous, the noise deafening. Dominic had had to use his height and weight to force a path through. For all young Alexandrov’s bluster, he would never have been able to do it by himself. He was fiercely proud, and as brave as a lion, but physically he was as slight as a girl. Such a strange combination in a young man. Yet an immensely likable character, nonetheless.

Dominic decided it was impossible to go any further by the direct route. The crowd was shouting for Blücher, with even more enthusiasm than their earlier huzzas for the Emperor, outside the Pulteney. ‘Come, Alexandrov. Let us go round by the stables.’

The young Russian nodded and followed, holding his sabre tight against his side so that it would not impede their progress.

‘At least I won’t lose you, even among all these people,’ Dominic shouted over his shoulder. ‘With that incredible plume, I could find you in a throng of thousands.’

Alexandrov grinned his response.

The lad responded very well to being roasted. No doubt he was used to it. Yet he had begun to look a little nervous now, probably at the prospect of apologising to the Regent in person. Dominic suddenly felt ashamed of himself for tricking the lad into believing he must do so. That had never been his intention. Was he seeking revenge for the fact that Alexandrov’s voice disturbed him still? Unworthy, if so. It was not Alexandrov’s fault that Dominic’s mind was playing tricks on him.

The stable gates were closed and manned by soldiers. ‘Let us in,’ Dominic ordered. ‘I am the Duke of Calder and this officer is on the staff of his Majesty the Russian Emperor.’

‘Daren’t do it, sir. Er…your Grace.’

‘Nonsense. Open up at once.’

The soldier stood stiffly to attention. He made no move to obey Dominic. ‘We’ve only just managed to get these gates closed, sir. We opened them for Marshal Blücher’s carriage and were almost crushed by the people flooding in around him. There are still hundreds of them inside the house. You’ll have to go in by the main gate. Sorry, sir.’

‘Fetch your officer.’

It did not take Dominic long to convince the young lieutenant that he ought to be able to open the stable gates just enough to admit two gentlemen. And that, if he was any kind of officer at all, he should be able to ensure that none of the milling crowd could force a way through.

Within minutes, Dominic was leading the way into Carlton House. They arrived in the grand hall just in time to see the Prince Regent and Marshal Blücher emerge from the Regent’s private apartments. The crowd cheered ecstatically. For Blücher, of course. But the Prince had not lost his sense of theatre. In the midst of the huge throng, he invited Blücher to kneel so that he could fasten a medallion on the old man’s shoulder. Dominic fancied that the portrait on the medallion was of the Regent himself. That was very much his way. The Marshal, however, seemed to be overcome by the honour. As he rose, he kissed the Regent’s hand.

‘Wait here,’ Dominic shouted into Alexandrov’s ear. ‘I’ll go and make sure the Regent’s aides know about the Emperor’s change of plans.’

‘But if I am to apologize—’

‘You are not,’ Dominic said firmly, glad to be able to clear his conscience at last. ‘I’ll say all that is necessary on your behalf.’